Bohemian Rhapsody
by Araceli L
Summary: Life is all about the decisions we make, or so people say. You can avoid it all by not caring one bit. A story about life and what one mistake - or decision - can do to you. Inspired by the Queen song. Sort of dark, with intense themes.


**A/n: As funny as it sounds, this was inspired by Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". I'm sure there are multiple interpretations of the song, but this is sort-of mine. Enjoy!**

**Bohemian Rhapsody**

I flee down the dimming alley, my breath hot in my mouth.

I've been running my whole life. This is nothing new.

_Easy come, easy go, _I think, then chuckle airily.

Nothing really matters anyway.

I turn down the street, and as soon as I'm behind the corner, I freeze in my tracks.

His face. There, in my mind. Right there.

_Carry on._

And I destroyed it.

I drop to the ground, shivers racking my spine from the image. _Leave me, demon! _I cry to him, but he just smiles obliviously, like he doesn't know I killed him.

I killed him.

I feel a tear leaking out, and laugh at the utter absurdity of it all. I laugh at myself, at the way his blood dripped when I wiped him out, at the world and how everything turned out for me.

It's not that I'm self-pitying – damn, no. Pity has nothing to do with it.

I shake my head, then pick myself up, and force myself forward. I feel my lungs struggling to give me air, but I don't care. I don't care.

I put my gun against his head…pulled my trigger…and now he's dead.

I wonder, for a moment, who's crying for him. Then I smile wolfishly. He had no one to love him, the bastard. I know he didn't.

Because he was just like me.

I run faster at that thought, away from that thought, trying to regain something of myself…my old self, not the killer. Not the one that didn't give a damn. Not the one cornered and tricked into this…this selfish being.

I never wanted this. I never wanted to die.

Sometimes…I wish I had never been born at all.

As I run, the wind beats beside me, and I realize just how insignificant I thought it. Now I'm realizing just how insignificant I am beside it.

_He was just like me._

His life had just begun…and I've gone and thrown it all away.

Nothing really matters, anyway. It doesn't even matter that I'm not who I was.

And suddenly memories of my past are upon me like demons in the dark; before I can even think about it, I see a silhouette. I know who he is; this is my father, the darkest demon of them all.

I was just a poor boy, from a poor family. In the beginning, I was terrified of becoming like him. I wanted nothing more than to be spared from the destiny my forefathers had cut out for me, through blood and carnage. But my father had a plan, I realize. He knew something I didn't, because it had happened to him.

And through my whole life, I was taught how to be proper, how to give common courtesy and respect. But I never found any of them worthy of my respect. I realize now that this is how my father planned it…what a clever son of a bitch.

He also terrified me, like aforementioned. I remember when I was younger, how I accidentally wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time…and I remember seeing my father bellowing at some poor idiot, who was blindfolded and kneeling on the ground.

And…I remember my father blowing his brains out.

And so none of it mattered, did it? Here in the dark, damp alley, I howl at the moon, like the wolf I was raised to be. I laugh. None of it _fucking _mattered.

Because I didn't give a damn.

But now…

_Mama, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry._

I remember the days when I hit her, tried to make her understand I didn't _care._ She didn't give up on me, though. She never did. She never let me go.

Until now.

And so, when my father showed me the "truth" behind his "job", I was enthralled; he taught me that he was doing good instead of bad. The intensity, the risks, the danger was so addicting to me; it drew me like something shameful. The adrenaline coursing through my veins; the fire in my heart; the pulse of my blood behind my ears. All of it was so delicious. So…different than the life I knew. I had to get out of there, and this was my chance.

_My father was one smart motherfucker_, I grin. _And he's made me this way._ It doesn't matter that my father's dead; his legacy is still trailing behind him, picked up and woven into by me. It's following me now, as I push myself onward.

Onward to what? There's never been anything to run forward to, but I've always been running.

_Running away has always been the real answer._

But now, I know I'm running _toward _something. This run feels so different than anything else I've ever done in my life; there's a sense of _reality _in this run, like I've been living in a fantasy where nothing I did mattered. Like my actions had no consequences. Like I was invincible. I feel like I'm heading toward my upcoming.

_Then turn around._

But…I can't. I have to run to face the truth.

_ There's nothing to turn around to._

I remember after I took up my father's life. I smile shortly, panting. I was so…_thrilled_ at the way things went, how easily being in control felt; how perfectly my job as the captain went. I felt like I had finally found my place in life, despite how my mother would cry if she ever knew. I was finally let go, and though I knew I was going to Hell, I was happy about it. I was finally away from my old life.

Nobody and nothing could deny me; I was on top of the world, my voice shaking mountains and seas bowing at my feet. Nobody could touch me; I was invincible! I was finally out of there! Nobody could stop me and spit in my eye, nobody could reach me. I was playing God.

And then _he _happened.

I run on and on, my shadow flying across different squares of light in the night. I feel like I've taken flight, and I know I'll never come down. It almost feels like that dream state, but now there's no escape from reality.

The moon bears down on me, but I don't need her sympathy. I've never needed anyone's pity. Because I don't care.

Or so I thought.

He was defiant, however cowardly; I could see him shake as I glared at him. He held his head high as I jerked it to face me. I remember questioning him on everything he knew, but he kept his lips shut tight; even when I blasted away his foot, he wouldn't tell me anything.

I recall how I couldn't bring myself to shoot him. I told my crew it was because he knew something – but that was the worst lie I'd ever heard. I don't know what my crew thought, but it didn't matter to me. The kid lived.

I kept him around for several weeks after that, and finally, I allowed him to live on the starship. He limped around foolishly, but he did his chores. He got to know the crew, I knew, but I refused to come into contact with him. I was the proud captain, though I pretended like he was a temporary thing. Which he was supposed to be.

I remember the day that killed me inside, slowing on the road.

I was walking along the ship, my boots _thunking _on the titanium. I was whistling. That day had been a good one; a whopping 22 prisoners were taken, 12 sent for inspection, 10 already killed. But as I sauntered down the hallway, I heard the boy crying out in rage. I peered around the corner, my ears perking up, when I saw the fox. And he was _crying._

I remember him going on and on about the prisoner's lives – about _how come they can't live like I am, spare them like me._ And my startled crew's response – _you got lucky, kid. Don't blow it._

And then the crew blew the prisoner's brains out.

The expression on the boy's face isn't a hard one to remember. It haunts me, right now, as I stop in the middle of the road. It was that same expression I had, I'm sure of it. And that certainty is one of the reasons it kills me.

He was so like me, but the better version of me.

Now, his face is in my mind. Sheltered and, however scared, excited to prove his courage in the face of danger. Then the abrupt shock on his face as he was rudely introduced into the real world.

I have several reasons why I killed him, and none of them make any difference to the fact that he's dead.

When I pulled the gun, I wanted so desperately to put it away again. I knew why I was doing this, why my finger was curling around the trigger: I was jealous. This boy, a _child_, was so much better than I; he was better than I would ever be. And that made me hate him. I was condemned to this life now, no matter what happened; he had the whole world ahead of him, to make it better or to make it worse. And I'd followed my father – I'd _turned into him_. I had no doubt he wouldn't. And I hated him for it, for making me realize who I'd become.

I hated him.

But what made me keep going, what pushed the gun to his temple, was the conviction in my mind that this was for the best. I thought, somewhere, that if (or when) I killed him, it'd be better for all of us. I would never be haunted by that face that told me what I was, but most of all, he'd never be haunted by a face like his own. He'd never be told, the way I was, so abruptly, of what he'd become; he'd never have to come to the terrible realization that he _was _that evil man that'd killed the prisoner right before his eyes. He'd never do it.

He'd never have to make the choice.

And I pulled the trigger, I ended his life. I stopped him from becoming me, unlike my father had. I'd let him off easy.

I race now, race against the wind, against his spirit come to haunt me. I don't know if I did the right thing, but I know I did the best thing. The best thing to set myself at rest, to forgive myself. As crazy as it sounds, his death redeemed me. He would never be the son, because I wouldn't be the father.

I won't be the father, because my father never cared. Nothing mattered to him.

I don't know where I'm going now, but I'm headed straight for it.

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me…

**A/n: Song and lyrics used are not mine, of course. I hope you enjoyed, please review, and thank you very much for reading. It's much appreciated.**

**~Araceli L**


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